Monday, April 26, 2004

The dancing thing

“Mike… Mike, you are retarded. You are a fucking retard. I’m sorry… but you’re retarded.”

[Prologue: I’m in the bathroom and these two 19-year old shitrocks ask me where I’m from. I tell them I come from the land of the damned and dumbass number 2 says “Dude, my girlfriend is totally from Glace Bay! Her brother had that neck accident! She has to meet you!” Having vacated my bladder I say sure and make a quick retreat…]

I recently pissed on an opportunity for some easy girl ravaging. As usual I was oblivious to the entire situation, only cognizant after the dame had left and the moment passed. I am pretty thick sometimes. Not overly stupid, just no good with people or the signals they send. I tend to panic.

I was at a club with my friend Rob. We’re sitting there watching the locals and this girl acknowledged my inappropriate ogling by coming over to the table. She smelled like god would smell like if god was real and not made up. She asks me to dance. “Thanks” I say, “but I don’t dance.”

We’re chatting a bit and Rob tells her it’s my birthday. More chatting. She asks me to dance again.

My response is the oft used but polite, “uh no thanks, I don’t dance.” See, I use a power chair and I think the idea of me on a dance floor robotically swaying this way and that is just fucking silly. That bullshit works for some people and that’s great, but I hate it to the core. I mean it’s just so darling isn’t it?

“Come on, please?” she asks, and I repeat the line again. She leans in for a whisper, “You’re really handsome” followed by a kiss on the cheek. So she goes on to dance with my friend. She comes back and sits next to me; swapping chairs with Rob so he has to sit on the higher chair like a moron and not hear what we’re saying. So we’re chatting again and I am of course still oblivious to any interest at this point. I am least thinking, ‘wow, this is cool’ as I continue to observe her outrageous hotness.

As if giving her the brushes on the dance floor and not being aware of it wasn’t bad enough, all of a sudden I turn to my right. Standing there are the two mongoloids from the bathroom with the girl from Glace Bay. Seemed she was interested in playing ‘20 Questions A Fucking Moron Would Ask.’

I’m trying to get rid of retardo wench but it in the process I’m ignoring my future wife, and she mutters “I’ll be back.” She never came back. It gets worse. I’m still trying to magically wish Glace Bay girl would have an aneurysm and die. She finally leaves, the damage already done, and her spot is replaced by a cartoonishly troubled gay-stereotype. He up and tells me his daddy and uncle raped the shit out of him and that, among other things, he is a certified witch.

So my super model pretend girlfriend has been gone an hour and the harsh reality of my dismissal of her begins to set in. I of course try to rationalize, saying it was Glace Bay girls' fault, and the molested witch's fault. Rob shoots this down and says that I was being too nice to both of those freaks and thus they wouldn't leave. Other than that all I can come up with is, “man I don’t do that dancing thing.”

It is then that Rob, bless his callous and truthful nature says, “You’re fucking crazy. Did you ever think to maybe get over yourself and just dance with her? I know you think it’s stupid, but maybe ya could have just given her what she wanted?”

Reality is a bitch. “Oh… what have I….”

“Mike… Mike, you are retarded. You are a fucking retard. I’m sorry… but you’re retarded.”

The idea that I've done this before and may do it again, unaware, is downright alarming. There is of course no way I will ever know what could have happened, but based on the advice of another indispensable friend…

“Shit. You were gonna have some birthday sex.” Damn your common sense, Beth, damn it to hell.


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